


Infidel

by 221Browncoat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Scott, Stiles does witch craft, Stiles is the brainy one, Whump, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7433797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Browncoat/pseuds/221Browncoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is evil at play and Stiles, ever the researcher, is the one to figure out what's happening and how. Of course, it bites him in the ass as he and the pack find themselves facing yet another supernatural evil. Whump to ensue, naturally. (Or, rather, supernaturally.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place somewhere between 3A and 3B but also during summer vacation, which maybe isn't possible but it's fine.  
> Also the title came from the Malleus Maleficarum. That words shows up in there a LOT.

Sheriff Stilinski stared at the food on his plate, pushing it around with his fork. He should be used to it, he thought. His son’s best friends were a werewolf, a banshee, and a monster hunter. One of his classmates had become some sort of vengeance-seeking madman and sent his other classmate, a weird lizard-man, to kill people. At least one of his teachers was a crazy supernatural…thing that had sacrificed several human beings.  At this point, nothing should surprise him.

And yet.

“What, you don’t like it Dad?” Stiles said, getting himself another helping of pasta. “I think this stuff’s pretty good. You know, for coming out of a plastic bag in our freezer.”

“Huh? Oh. No, the food is fine. Just…strange day at work today,” Stilinski answered, a little embarrassed. He made a show of taking a big bite of pasta.

Stiles perked up a little at that. “Strange? Strange how?” he asked through a mouthful of food, trying to sound casual, but coming off as more eager than anything.

Stilinski looked up at him. “A woman found her husband dead, covered in blood. He’d coughed it up out of his lungs, apparently. Which doesn’t make any sense, because he’d gotten a physical two days before and gotten a clean bill of health. No TB or anything like that. He was one of those workout nuts, I guess. Anyway, the medical examiner said that the vic had serious lung damage, sustained around the time of his death. But there was no outward injury. None. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Stiles frowned. “Huh. What do you think? Foul play? Some sort of weird virus thing? We could have an epidemic on our hands! Like, Ebola of the lungs or something like that!”

The sheriff rolled his eyes and took another bite. “He didn’t have Ebola, Stiles. The doc probably would’ve noticed that when he did the blood work.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles retorted. “He could very well have faked his medical degree. He could be a complete fraud, and you would have _no_ idea.”

“You’ve been watching too much TV or something. You are becoming _quite_ the conspiracy theorist. Doctor Gibson is a real doctor with a real degree from a real university.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive. Don’t you have homework to do or something?”

“Dad, it’s summer vacation,” Stiles said with a healthy amount of sass and an eye-roll.

Stilinski blinked. He’d actually _forgotten_ that it was summer vacation. “Then…go hang out with Scott.”

“He’s grounded. He and Isaac were fighting and got blood on the carpet and broke Melissa’s favorite lamp. Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Because you ask too many questions. I’m tempted to drive you over to the fire station and leave you there,” the sheriff quipped.

“Then who’s going to make you dinner out of the freezer?” Stiles shot back, taking his plate into the kitchen.

The sheriff couldn't help but smile at that. “Damn. You’ve got a point there. But could you please just give me, I dunno, half an hour of quiet? I need some time to think.”

“About the case.”

“Amongst other things.”

Stiles sat down at the table across from his dad.

“Stiles, what did I just say?”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles sighed. “I thought maybe you wanted to, I dunno, bounce ideas off me. Or something. Just in case it’s…you know…”

“Supernatural?” Stilinski finished.

“Yeah, that. I’m starting to realize that there is a lot more out there than I-than any of us-know about.”

“But what could cause that kind of damage? I dunno, Stiles. I’m sure there’s some rational medical explanation.”

“Really, Dad? _Really_? Out of all the whacked out shit-”

“Language, Stiles!” Stilinski snapped.

“Sorry. What I mean is, crazy sh-…crap happens all the time in this town. And every time, you wanna try and find some rational explanation. And every time, there isn’t one. I’ll look in the bestiary, and if I can’t find anything there, I’ll call Deaton and see what I can find,” Stiles said.

“Stiles, I’m the sheriff here. I should be doing the investigating,” Stilinski said, his voice bordering on irritation.

“Yeah, but Dad! I know a hell of a lot more about the supernatural than you do. And we need to know who this guy was, if he had any enemies, if there’s anyone he would have pissed off enough that they killed him.  If you get a list of people who may want to kill him, we might be able to find out how they did it and make sure they don’t do it again.”

“Stiles, that…actually makes sense. Okay. You go…do whatever it is you kids do when you’re going up against these things and I will see what I can find out about the vic.”

XXX

Sheriff Stilinski was woken up by his phone vibrating. He sat up groggily, dismayed and disgusted to find that one of the files he’d been reading was now stuck to his face with drool. He peeled the paper form his face and answered the phone.

“Stilinski.”

“Hey, Sheriff. I know it’s early, and that you were gonna work that recent case, but, uh, you should probably come in. Like, now.”

Stilinski pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to heave a sigh. “What is it?”

“There’s been two more, sir. Same as the first-coughed up blood from torn up lungs. We could be looking at some sort of outbreak here, sir.”

“Damn,” Stilinski murmured. “I’ll be right in.” He hung up and hastily shoved the papers and photos that were strewn over the table into some semblance of order before pushing them back into the manila folder. He scanned the room for his jacket and spotted it hanging on the coat rack by the door-he was pretty sure Stiles had put it there-and pulled it on. Phone in his pocket and folder in hand, he fumbled the door open and went out to the car.

His mind raced as he drove to the station. He couldn’t decide which was worse-supernatural or not. If it was supernatural, that meant there was some sort of new monstrosity for the pack to go up against. But if it wasn’t supernatural, then it was some sort of outbreak-maybe even intentional poisoning. He shivered at the thought. There were a million ways that a weaponized virus or chemical or bio-whatever could get out of control. If that happened, everyone was at risk.

Parrish met him at the door, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Two sugars, just like you like it, sheriff,” he said.

“Thanks. What’ve we got?” He followed Parrish into the conference room, where pictures of the first victim and two more people, a man and a woman that he didn’t recognize, were tacked up onto a board, along with their CODs.

“Taylor Johnson, 24, and Avery Wilson, 22,” Parrish said, nodding toward the pictures.

“Any connections?”

“Not that we’ve found yet. The first victim, Thomas Jones, worked in the same building as Ms. Wilson. We’ll keep looking, but so far, that’s all we’ve got.”

Stilinski sighed. “It’s not much. Check receipts, phone-bills, everything. If these guys stopped at the same _gas station_ , I want to know about it. I’ve got to make some calls.”

He went into his office and closed the door behind him, then dialed Derek Hale.

XXX

Brian  Sanders, 23, checked his watch as he slowed from a jog to a stroll. He smiled. He’d shaved two minutes off of his last time. Training for a half-marathon was turning out to be surprisingly fun. Not to mention satisfying. He went into his house, too distracted to find it odd that the front door wasn’t locked.

He took a bottle of water out of the fridge, letting the cool liquid slide down his parched throat. He frowned and sat down at the table. His chest had started to hurt.

The silence of his house was broken as he began to cough suddenly, violently. The taste of blood overpowered the taste of fear. He couldn’t draw in a breath. There was so much blood. How the hell was there so much blood?

He got up from the table, only to collapse to the ground. His phone was just out of reach.

The police came an hour later, after his girlfriend found him in a small puddle of his own blood.

XXX

Sheriff Stilinski stood in the house, hands on his hips. He hadn’t heard back from the ME, but from the looks of it, this guy had died just like the others. And Derek had no more idea than he did about what was going on. He watched as the body was wheeled away on a gurney.

“What are you thinking, Sheriff?” Parrish asked, coming up behind him.

“I’m thinking we need to talk to the girlfriend. There has to be some connection between the victims besides the age group, and she may have an idea what that connection is,” he answered.

“I can pick her up and meet you back at the station,” Parrish offered.

“Yeah. That’d be great. I’ll see you there.” Stilinski walked out to his car, his mood getting blacker by the minute. There were several possibilities here, all of them bleak, and all of them dangerous if he didn’t figure out exactly what was going on. The bodies were piling up, and he needed to put a stop to it.

When he got back to the station (after stopping for some coffee; the stuff they had at the precinct was awful), Parrish was already there with the girlfriend. She was sitting in one of the interrogation rooms, fingers tapping nervously on the table, dark lines of makeup down each cheek. Parrish was sitting at his desk, typing furiously and frowning at his computer.

“What is it, deputy?” Stilinski asked as he approached,

“It could be nothing,” Parrish answered, not looking up. “You go in and talk to her. I’ll tell you if I find anything.”

“Fine. What’s her name?”

“Hailey Bennet.”

The sheriff nodded and walked into the small room, pulling the door shut behind him. He pulled the empty chair out from beneath the table and sat down, folding his hands before him. “Hello, Ms. Bennet. I’m Sheriff Stilinski. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know this is a difficult time for you, and I’m grateful for your cooperation in coming down here. I know it isn’t easy.”

Hailey sniffled, looking at him with doubtful eyes. “Do you? Do you know what it’s like to come home and find that the person you love is dead for no reason, with no warning?” Her voice trembled.

“No,” the sheriff admitted. “When I lost my wife, I knew it was coming. Didn’t make it any easier, though. I do know some of what you’re going through, Hailey. So we’ll take it as slowly as you need to. Did Brian seem sick at all?”

Hailey shook her head, tears welling up. “No! Not even a cough. He was training for this half-marathon in San Francisco. He was the healthiest I’ve ever seen him.”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“We’ve been friends since middle school, but we only started dating about a year ago. I can’t-I can’t believe he’s gone!”

The sheriff sighed. It was time to ask the question he’d been avoiding. But it needed to be asked. “Ma’am, I know this is difficult, but can you think of anyone that might have wanted to hurt Brian?”

Her reaction was the opposite of what Stilinski expected. She narrowed her eyes and stiffened slightly. “Why would you ask that?” she snapped, her tone suddenly hard.

“I’m just going through the routine questions, ma’am. I don’t mean to upset you.”

Hailey stood up, wiping her eyes. “I think it’s time for me to go,” she said, her tone such that Sheriff Stilinski knew better than to argue with her.

“Right. Call if you can think of anything that may help us in our investigation.”

“Sure,” Hailey said. The sheriff watched her go. As soon as she was out the door, he looked down at Parrish.

“She’s got something to do with it,” he said.

Parrish looked up. “I think you’re right, Boss. More than you realize.” He pointed at the computer screen. “I think Ms. Bennet is our missing link.”

XXX

“How did you even know about this? You listening to the police scanner again?”

“No, Scott, I had a psychic vision. What do you think? Come on. Let’s check it out.”

Scott looked over at Stiles. “Are you serious?”

“What? He said for us to do whatever it is we do!” Stiles insisted, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on!”

“I don’t think going out after curfew and breaking into a house that is _also an active crime scene_ is quite what he had in mind, Stiles! We’re breaking, like, three laws!” Scott cried.

“He said do what we do! Listening to the police scanner and going onto forbidden crime scenes is sort of what we do.”

“Since when?!”

“Like, always! We were going to a forbidden crime scene the night you got turned, remember? Now come on!”

Stiles jumped out of the jeep, not bothering to look behind him to see if Scott was following-he didn’t have to. He counted down under his breath as he slowly walked toward the house.

“Three…two…one…” He smiled when he heard the car door open.

“Stiles wait up!” Scott called, jogging forward. “You’re not going in there alone.”

Stiles smirked. “I knew you’d come around!” He ducked under the caution tape around the house, Scott following close behind, and went up on to the porch. He dug into his pocket, pulling out two thin pieces of metal.

“What’s that?” Scott asked.

“Lock pick,” Stiles answered shortly, putting the metal into the lock. He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he jimmied them around.

“Stiles,” Scott said.

“I need to concentrate!” Stiles swatted at him.

“Stiles, move.” Scott grabbed his shoulder, pushing him to the side. Then, he took a deep breath, and kicked the door open. “There!”

“What the hell!” Stiles stared at Scott with wide eyes. “Why would you do that? Now they’ll _know_ someone broke in! Now we might as well break the windows and rob the poor dead son of a bitch while we’re at it!”

Scott frowned. “Then we’d be breaking even more laws. Not to mention that’s just a horrible thing to do.”

“Sarcasm!” Stiles cried, exasperated. “I am _seriously_ starting to regret bringing you along!” He shook his head as he stepped into the house. In the kitchen, he could see the outline of where the body had been, and he went toward it.

“Whoa,” Scott muttered behind him, and Stiles turned to see him swaying, leaning against the wall for support.

“Whoa, hey! Buddy! You okay?” Stiles asked, grabbing Scott’s arms to help keep him up.

“There’s definitely something here,” Scott answered. “I can smell it. It’s really strong-I don’t think it’s Wolfsbane, but whatever it is, it’s not good.”

“What do you mean ‘not good’?”

“I mean, like, there’s something off about it. Something…I dunno… _evil._ I can’t really explain it…” He shook his head.

“Look, maybe this was a bad idea. If you need to go…”

“No! No, I’m okay. We just need to find whatever it is, because I’m willing to bet it has something to do with whatever killed this guy,” Scott assured him.

“Okay. If you’re sure,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Lead the way.”

Scott nodded, but Stiles thought he still looked a little unsteady. They walked into the kitchen, and Stiles could see the blood on the floor. Apparently the clean-up crew hadn’t made it in yet.

Scott took a deep breath through his nose, and Stiles could have sworn he saw the werewolf’s eyes flash red. Or maybe it was just his imagination. He seemed to be imagining a lot of things lately.

“In here,” Scott hissed, pointing at a cupboard.

“Maybe we shouldn’t open it,” Stiles said slowly. “I mean, there could be, like…a….poisonous snake or something in there.”

Scott snorted. “There isn’t a snake, Stiles. I would be able to smell it. I’m pretty familiar with that particular stench.”

“Right. Kanima. Do you wanna do it or should I?”

“I don’t know!” Scott shrilled. “How about you do it.”

“Okay fine. Ready?” He didn’t wait for the answer before he swung the cupboard door open, jumping back to avoid whatever horrible creature was inside it. Only, there wasn’t any horrible creature. Just dishes, like anyone would have in their cupboard. That, and a small burlap bag slightly smaller than Stiles’ fist. He reached forward, and as he did, he could feel what Scott was talking about; there was an aura about the thing, a _wrongness_ that made him want to pull his hand back and leave the house and never go back. But he couldn’t do that. So, with trembling fingers, he picked it up.

“What is it?” Scott asked breathlessly as Stiles turned to him.

“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s bad,” Stiles replied. “If there’s anyone that has a clue, it’s Deaton. We should go see him.”

Scott scratched his head and gave Stiles an apologetic look. “He’s out of town on…I actually don’t know. He could just as easily be out finding out about some new strain of Wolfsbane as sipping mojitos in Miami. He won’t be back until next week.”

“And we don’t know how many more people will die before then. Looks like we’ll just have to try and figure this one out on our own.”

“Looks like.”

Stiles let out a long breath. “Does your mom have the night shift?”

Scott nodded.

“Good. Don’t want my dad to find out about this. Not until we know what we’re up against anyway.”

They ended up locked in Scott’s room, sitting criss-cross on the floor with the thing between them.

“…What now?” Scott asked.

“We open it, I guess,” Stiles answered with a nervous shrug. “I opened the cupboard, so you get to do the honors this time.”

“Fine.” Taking a deep breath and holding it, Scott untied the little bag.

Inside was a strange mish-mash of objects: some small bones, a feather, strange-smelling herbs, a ring with a weird symbol on it, a button, and what appeared to be a lock of human hair.

“What. The actual. _Hell,_ ” Stiles muttered, brow creased in confusion. “What is this?”

Scott shook his head, at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this…this whatever-it-was.

Stiles stood and grabbed a pencil and paper form off of Scott’s desk and scribbled something down on it.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked.

“Making a list. I don’t want to forget anything that’s in there when I’m researching.”

“You’re leaving it here?” Scott squawked.

“Well I sure as shit am not taking it back to my place.”

Scott sighed. “Fine.”

That night, he put the bag and its contents into a sock, and put that into a box which he stowed in the back corner of his closet.

He didn’t sleep a wink.

XXX

Stiles didn’t sleep a wink. As soon as he’d gotten home, he’d started researching, trying to figure out what in the hell they were up against. After perusing several strange websites (including at least three that tried to sell him voodoo dolls and another with an ad for a gypsy dating site), he found one that actually seemed credible. Well, as credible as an apparent monster/demon fighting guide could be.

What he’d found was called a hex bag, and it was used by witches to punish and torment people. And often kill them. The only way to stop one was to find it and burn it, which was actually surprisingly simple. The only problem was trying to figure out who the target was. Either that, or he had to find the killer before they did it again.

Stiles glanced at the clock. 3:20. He stifled a yawn and resisted the urge to crawl into bed. He knew that if he did, he’d just get a fitful sleep full of the nightmares that had started the night he and the others had ‘died’. He looked at the clock again and sighed, clicking on the ‘related readings’ link at the bottom of the page.

XXX

“Why am I here?” Hailey snapped. A day had passed, and the sheriff and Parrish had spent the night before digging up everything they could on the victims, and on Hailey Bennet.

“You knew all of the victims, Ms. Bennet. You’re our only connection,” Stilinski answered calmly. “We just wanted to ask you a few more questions, see if we can det-”

“Am I being convicted of anything?” Hailey interrupted.

“No, but-”

“Then I’m leaving,” she said, standing up from the table and grabbing her purse. “And I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone from now on. To _mourn_.”

“Miss-”

Hailey whirled on him. “If you don’t leave me alone, Sheriff, I’m going to contact my lawyer, and from what I understand, that’s not something you can afford.” Her voice was laced with venom, her eyes narrowed. Stilinski took a step back.

“Fine.” He watched her leave, then called after her, “Don’t leave town!”

That night at dinner, Stiles was watching him again. He tried to ignore his son’s inquisitive stare, but he couldn’t. He put down his fork. “For goodness’ sake, Stiles, spit it out!”

“Have you found a suspect?”

Stilinski sighed. “Stiles, you _know_ I can’t talk to you about that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, but Dad-”

“Stiles, I-”

“Dad, listen to me!” Stiles cried, slamming his hand down on the table and stunning the sheriff into silence. “I know how they’re doing it, okay? If we can figure out who the next victim is, I may be able to save them.”

Sheriff Stilinski frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know that victim’s house that had the door broken in?”

“That was you?!”

“Well, yes, sort of. Scott’s the one who actually kicked the door in. But we can talk about that later! The important thing is, we found something, and I did some research, and I know what’s going on. We’re dealing with a witch.”

The scar on Stilinski’s shoulder where the darach’s knife had gone in flared up, and he rubbed at it. “What, so we’ve got another self-righteous werewolf-despising psycho on our hands?”

Stiles shook his head. “Not a darach. A witch. Like, jinxing people and giving them warts.”

“Great,” Stilinski muttered.

“What? You look worried all of a sudden. Well, more worried than usual I mean.” Stiles was on his feet, looking ready to spring into action.

“Well, yeah. I think I pissed off a witch.” He coughed. And then he coughed again, louder and harsher, and then his chest was constricting and his throat was closed and he was coughing uncontrollably, blood flecking his lips as he landed on his hands and knees on the floor. He knew what was happening. He looked up at Stiles with wide eyes, feeling a stab as he saw his own fear mirrored in his son’s eyes. His son…

And suddenly, Stiles was opening and closing cupboards, rummaging through drawers and cursing so much that, had he not been coughing up a lung, Stilinski would have grounded him for a month.

“Where is it, where is it, where the _hell_ is it?” Stiles cried. A moment later, he let out a sound of triumph and held something up.

Stilinski’s vision was getting dark around the edges, and his head pounded from lack of oxygen. Just as he was sure he was going to die, Stiles pulled out a lighter and caught whatever was in his hand on fire. And just as suddenly as it had come, the pain ceased and Stilinski could breathe again. He slumped down, gulping down air. Stiles collapsed beside him, wrapping his lanky arms around the sheriff and getting his hair wet with tears.

“Shit, Dad, I thought you were gonna die,” he said softly as Stilinski returned the embrace.

“I would have, if you hadn’t….what is it you did?”

Stiles pulled away and pointed to a tiny pile of ash on the floor. “Hex bag. It’s how the witch is doing it. But I burned it, so it couldn’t finish the job.”

Stilinski nodded, though he didn’t know half of what his son was saying. “Thank you.”

“You gonna tell me who the witch is now? You know you don’t have proof to put whoever it is away, but with Scott and Derek’s help, I can stop him.”

“Her,” Sheriff Stilinski corrected. Stiles’ head snapped up. “Her name is Hailey Bennet.”

XXX

Stiles jimmied the lock open, thankful Scott wasn’t there to kick the door in. Hailey’s car was gone. Apparently, she’d fled town around the time Stiles had saved his dad. Stiles figured there had to be _some_ clue in her house of where she could be. He opened the door and looked around before stepping inside.

For being a witch’s house, everything looked surprisingly… _normal_. Framed photographs and semi-awful pieces of art were strewn across the walls. As he went deeper into the house, he didn’t see anything to arouse suspicion. He was beginning to think he wouldn’t find anything at all, until he saw the door that was poorly hidden by a tall potted plant. He shoved it aside and opened the door, revealing a flight of stairs that led down into a basement.

If he were in a horror movie, going down those stairs would probably be sealing his fate. He shook the thought away and stepped down, holding his breath. He let it out when he realized that it wasn’t creaky and not a booby trap.

The basement was dank and musty, and as far as Stiles could see, devoid of any dead bodies or voodoo dolls. Then he flicked on the light and looked down at the floor.

“What the hell.”

XXX

Chris Argent sat at the desk in his study, poring over a map marked with red x’s showing the locations of recent ‘animal attacks’, occasionally pausing to take a sip of scotch. A sound outside his door made him jump, and he immediately grabbed the gun that he kept in his desk drawer.

He could hear footsteps approaching, and he took deep steady breaths. He was ready when the door burst open to reveal-

“Stiles! What the hell are you doing here? I nearly shot you!”

“What do you know about demons?” Stiles asked, unfazed, striding forward and slapping a picture onto the desk before Argent.

Chris stiffened as he looked down at the photo, worry settling onto his features. “Where did you get this?”

“I took it at the house of the woman who tried to kill my dad. Now what do you know?” Stiles demanded.

“Not a lot,” Chris admitted, picking up the picture to examine it more closely. “Just rumors mostly. Whispers. I’ve heard stories about these, uh, these demon hunters, two brothers out of Kansas.  I always thought they were just that--stories. I mean, the kind of stuff these guys went up against…” He trailed off, staring at the pentagram on the cement. “It all seemed too big, too crazy to be true. But if these witches _are_ summoning a demon, then we’re in trouble- _real_ trouble.”

 “Because werewolves and kanimas aren’t real trouble?” Stiles answered, frowning.

“Because it won’t stop at just one. There have also been stories of entire towns getting overrun with demons, people being held hostage in their own homes, their own _bodies_ even.”

Stiles looked up sharply. “You mean like…possession?”

Chris nodded grimly. “Exactly. I’ll do some research, but I think the best way to deal with this is to stop the witches before they get a chance to try. Because if they succeed…God help us.”

XXX


	2. Chapter 2

"So, you're telling me that all of these deaths, and my near death, were caused by a witch?"

"Or a coven of witches, yes," Stiles confirmed.

Stilinski frowned. "Huh."

"That actually makes sense," Parrish said, looking up from the paper he was reading. "In a sort of, twisted…Beacon Hills sort of way. Bennet didn’t have motive to kill any of the victims except her cheating boyfriend, but she had access to all of them through her cleaning service. She must be helping other people enact their vengeance, too.”

"So what can we do about it?" the sheriff asked.

"I'm working on that," Stiles answered quickly. "I've been researching, and I think I've found something that'll help us catch them. Er, at least, find them."

Parrish and the sheriff looked at each other, and the former shrugged.

"He's been right so far," he said.

The sheriff sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Don't do anything stupid."

"Now what would give you such a ridiculous notion? Something stupid?  _Me_? Please!" And with that, Stiles scurried from the room.

"Why do I feel like I've made a horrible mistake," Stilinski muttered.

XXX

"Stiles, you in here?" Scott called, knocking on his best friend's door. There was no answer, and the door, having not been closed all the way, swung inward. Stiles' computer screen was glowing and Scott looked at the web page that was open there. His heart jumped.

"Oh, no Stiles. Shit." He picked up his phone and called the sheriff, hoping that he’d be proven wrong.

"Scott?"

"Where's Stiles?"

"What's going on?"

Scott kicked himself. He knew the sheriff was under a lot of stress, and worrying about Stiles--well, more than he already did--was the last thing he needed.

"Uh, nothing!” Scott said quickly. “Nothing, I just, uh…wanted to talk to him. About girl problems." This was met with silence. "Hello?"

"You…need to talk to Stiles about  _girls_? Have you  _met_  my son?"

Scott chuckled nervously. "Yeah, well. Do you know where he might be?"

"He's not at the house?"

"No. Well, not his room, anyway."

"Did you check the garage?"

Scott frowned, looking at the computer screen again. The garage…that could work. "No, I didn't. Um, I've gotta go. I'll call you back."

XXX

Stiles sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning forward to light each of the five candles. Though his heart pounded in his chest, his hands were the steadiest they'd been in ages; even the tiny flames hardly flickered, as if they knew the gravity of what was taking place. He carefully placed a candle on each point of the chalk figure on the floor. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and unfolded the papers before him, smoothing them on the ground. In a low voice, he began to read the Latin words. As he read, he pulled the knife from his belt, put the blade against his palm. Before he could draw it across, though, the door burst open.

"Stiles! What the  _hell_  are you doing? Stop!" Scott rushed forward-and ran into some invisible force. He looked down. Mountain Ash. "Stiles…"

Stiles glanced up at him and continued to speak the Latin words under his breath.

"Stiles, please;" Scott said, desperation sneaking into his words. He pressed forward, grunting in frustration. "Stiles! Stiles, come on!"

Stiles looked back down and drew the knife across his hand. He let the blood drip onto the chalk lines--

"Stiles! Stiles, _stop_!"

\--and pressed his hand into the center of the pentagram. The flames of the candles leapt up as Stiles' eyes rolled back in his head and he began to shake.

"Stiles!" Scott screamed, trying to break the barrier of Mountain Ash, watching in helpless horror as Stiles convulsed.

Stiles fell onto his back, and his hand brushed against the line of Mountain Ash. Scott surged forward, falling to his knees beside his friend. He gathered Stiles into his arms, holding his jerking form and trying to ignore the guttural noises coming from his throat.

"Stiles. Stiles, buddy, I'm here. I'm here," he murmured. He didn't know what was happening or how long it would last or what would happen when it was over. Assuming it  _got_  over. He forced the thought from his mind. He had to stay positive for Stiles, had to believe he'd get through it.

"Come on, Stiles. It's okay. You're okay," he whispered, for himself as much as for his friend. Slowly, the convulsions stopped and Stiles' breathing evened out. His eyes moved beneath the lids, and a moan escaped his lips.

"Stiles?" Scott said.

"Scott?" Stiles' voice was small, quiet-apologetic even. His eyes fluttered open and he looked scared. He sat up and puked, Scott keeping a hand on the small of his back.

"What were you thinking, Stiles? Hell, what were you even  _doing_?"

"Had to…had to know."

"Know what?"

"The coven," Stiles whispered. "I know where they are."

XXX

It was one thing explaining scrying to his best friend. It was another matter entirely explaining it to a room full of skeptical adults, one of whom was a moody werewolf, another of whom was an angry guy with a house full of guns, and another of whom was his father and also the sheriff.

"…So I followed the instructions and read the Latin and then it was like…I don't really know what it was like. It was strange, it was like I was  _there_ , but I could still feel my body in the garage…Anyway, they're in the woods. Five of them. One of them has a cabin out there and that's where they're holed up. I could see them. They're planning things--like, I'm pretty sure they're trying to summon the Devil. So we should…go…"

Everyone in the room was staring at him, with varying degrees of anger and, in Parrish's case, disbelief. Derek was standing with his arms folded across his chest and his head tilted down so that Stiles could just see his eyes shining out from under those thick, angry eyebrows of his. He let out a nervous chuckle.

"You're an  _idiot_ ," Derek said suddenly, drawing himself to his full height and closing the distance between himself and Stiles in two strides.

"Hey-" the sheriff began, but Derek held a hand up for him to step back and continued.

"Of all the insanely stupid, irresponsible, hard-headed, _half-assed_ things you've done in the very short time I've known you, this is by far the worst. Did you even stop to  _think_  that there could be consequences to dabbling in this shit? Hm?" He didn't give Stiles time to answer before he was at it again, inching even closer to the somewhat terrified teen. "When you did what you did last fall, you left yourself open. Vulnerable. You knew that, and  _yet_ , you  _still_  decided to perform a dangerous black magic ritual that you knew nothing about, using instructions that you  _found on the internet_! You could've died,  _or worse_! You're lucky I don't skin you alive right now!"

Stiles swallowed and tried to smile. "Wow, Sour Wolf. It's almost like you care or something." Derek fixed him with a death glare and growled before turning on his heel.

"The idiot's right. We should go." He picked up his bag off of the sheriff's desk and slung it over his shoulder. "We've got some witches to burn."

As he stalked out of the room, Stiles sidled up to Scott and, in a deep, scratchy parody, rasped, " _'We've got some witches to burn_.' What the hell was that?"

"Shut up, Stiles," the werewolf answered, pushing past him. Stiles watched as everyone filed out of the room. "Are we carpooling?" he called after them. "Or…? Yeah, okay, I'll just drive myself."

XXX

Stiles supposed he should be used to it by now, the _fighting-supernatural-things-in-the-middle-of-the-woods_ thing. But he wasn't. And a coven of witches? That was WAY new.

They'd called Alison and Isaac, who had agreed to come along, and all of them had met in the woods to converge on the cabin of psycho witches.

And now here they were, fighting a bunch of crazy, juiced up girls who wanted to raise a demon. Stiles wasn't actually doing much fighting, in the traditional sense. Or in any sense. He was pretty much worthless at it. Instead, he kind of just stood to the side with his baseball bat and tried not to die. He was starting to think he should've just stayed in his Jeep when Hailey appeared before him. She smirked at the bewilderment on his face.

"I know you. You're the one who found us."

"And the one whose dad you tried to kill, yes!" Stiles answered bitterly, holding his bat up in front of him. Hailey laughed.

"That was nothing personal. You know, you've got a natural talent for witchcraft. Scrying isn’t easy, and on your first try, too.” She smiled sincerely. “You could do amazing things."

"I already do amazing things,” Stiles responded, his eyebrows popping up. “I scored a goal in lacrosse one time, I molotoved a werewolf, I kidnapped the co-captain of the lacrosse team…Amazing!"

Hailey only sighed and shook her head. "That is a shame."

Allison turned at that moment and, seeing what was happening, threw one of her knives. Only the witch was fast, and ducked out of the way.

And Stiles was standing right behind her.

"Stiles!" Allison shouted in horror as the knife embedded itself in his shoulder.

"Gyaaah! Allison!" Stiles cried, his face pinched in pain as he staggered back, reaching up to pull the blade from his body.

"No! Don't! Don't pull it out!" Allison ran to his side as he sagged against a tree.

Stiles stared at her, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. "Why-the hell- _not_?" he panted through gritted teeth.

Allison bit her bottom lip, examining the wound. "It's designed to do more damage coming out than it did going in."

"That should  _not_  be legal," Stiles muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"It's not," Allison answered sheepishly. "I should-"

"Leave me alone and get back to fighting witches? Yeah, I agree. I'll be fine." Stiles waved a hand, trying to shoo her away.

There was a scream, and Allison and Stiles turned to see that Derek had overtaken another of the witches. There were only two left now of the five they'd come upon--Hailey, and the other, older one who sort of resembled Farrah Fawcett. She was the one that seemed to be in charge of the whole thing, and now she acted it.

"Enough!" she screamed, loud enough to halt the melee. Everyone looked at her, and almost in-sync, Parrish, Stilinski, and Argent all trained their guns on her. "You're going to let me walk out of here.” It was not a request.

"Me, too," Hailey piped up. She’d been cornered by Isaac and Scott, her back against the wall of the cabin.

"Do what you want with her. It makes no difference to me, as long as you let me leave,” Farrah said dismissively. She ignored Hailey's indignant response and directed her attention instead at the sheriff.

"No way," Sheriff Stilinski said. "You can leave here in handcuffs or a body bag. Those are really your only two options at this point."

"I think you'll find that that's not the case." She muttered something under her breath and made a flicking motion with one hand, and the guns flew from the hands of their owners, clattering to the ground beneath her feet. Now the only thing standing between her and escape were three unarmed men and a rag-tag pack of werewolves, claws out and teeth bared. Derek was slowly inching toward her. "Stop where you are, Hale.”

"You're not getting out of here,” Derek responded.

Farrah smiled and locked eyes with Stiles. A shiver went down his spine and he tried to look away, but he couldn’t, his gaze frozen. She started chanting quietly, and, eyes still fixed on Stiles, twisted her hand in the air.

Stiles let out a blood-curdling scream as pain and fear washed over him and the knife in his shoulder began to twist.

"What's happening?" Allison cried.

“Stiles!” Scott left Isaac with Hailey, joining Allison by Stiles’ side.

"Just-pull it out!" Stiles shouted, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to stop the knife's movement.

Allison grabbed the handle and tugged, but to no avail. "It's not working!"

“Let me try!” Scott put one hand on Stiles’ heaving chest and tried to pull the knife out, but he had no more luck than Allison had.

“Pl-please, Scott, get this thing _out_ of me!” Stiles gasped.

Suddenly, the knife began to move sideways, slowly, and another scream tore out of Stiles' throat.

"Stop!" Sheriff Stilinski shouted.

"Let me leave," Farrah said. "And I won't send that knife into the boy's heart." Suddenly, she began to cough. Blood hit the forest floor as Farrah doubled over, hacking and choking. Everyone watched in stunned silence as Hailey stood over her, hex bag in hand.

“Y-… _you_ ,” Farrah snarled, looking up at the young woman.

"You were just going to  _leave_  me,” Hailey snarled through gritted teeth. “I was your best student. You said so yourself. And you were just going to leave me here! I don't know where they're going to take me, but I do know where you're going. Give the Devil a handshake for me."

And Farrah died.

The knife stopped moving and Stiles sagged to the ground, gasping and trying to gain control over his erratic heartbeat. As Parrish handcuffed Hailey and Sheriff Stilinski called for an ambulance, Scott fell to his knees beside his friend, grabbing his hand and leeching away the pain.

Stiles' breathing began to even out, and he pulled his hand away from Scott's. He grimaced as the pain came back to him full-force, and he was beginning to feel woozy from blood-loss. But he still fixed Scott with a disapproving glare. "Don't do that. You're not supposed to take too much pain, remember?" Blood was flowing freely from his torn up shoulder, and he was going from woozy to full-on floaty. As his eyes slipped shut, Scott shook him.

"Stay awake, Stiles! Ambulance is almost here. Just-stay awake until then."

Stiles was feeling strangely detached, minus the searing pain in his shoulder, but he still had some presence of mind. "Where's everyone?"

"Derek and Isaac are…cleaning up before the ambulance gets here. Parrish is in the squad car with the girls who aren't…dead…Allison and her dad are getting out of here before the cops come, and your dad is trying to give the ambulance directions on where exactly we are."

Stiles had only caught about half of what Scott said, but he nodded and pretended to understand anyway.

"This…is gonna be a  _bitch_  to explain," Stiles mumbled.

"What?"

“Tell Allison…” Stiles felt himself slipping, and he blinked hard, forcing himself awake. “Tell her it isn’t her fault…”

 _That makes me sound like I’m dying_ , Stiles thought just before lapsing into unconsciousness.

XXX

“How is he?” Allison asked, chewing on her sleeve. She looked tired, and Scott could tell she’d been crying.

“Well, they’re giving him some fluids, and they’re bringing in someone from surgery to make sure there’s no major damage to his nerves or tendons. Or something. I sort of failed my anatomy class, so…”

Allison let out a choked laugh, but her face quickly fell again. “What if…what if something happens? Like, it doesn’t heal right and he can’t use his arm anymore?”

Scott wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in as she started to cry. “Hey. He’ll be okay. In the woods, before he passed out, he wanted me to tell you that it’s not your fault. And his arm’s gonna be fine. And it’ll leave a badass scar. You know how Stiles is. He’ll probably try and use it to, I dunno, woo Lydia or something.”

Allison laughed, sniffling, and pulled away from Scott. “You’re probably right.” Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out. “Isaac’s here. We’re gonna go pick something dorky out of the gift shop for him, if you wanna come.”

Scott smiled. “No, thanks. You guys go.”

Allison turned to leave, but stopped. “Thanks, Scott.”

“Any time,” he answered quietly with a half-smile.  He was still staring absently at the spot where she’d stood when his mom appeared in the waiting room. He looked up. “How is he?”

Melissa heaved a sigh. “The knife went pretty deep, and with the angle the blade was at, they’re going to have to repair the wound surgically. It shouldn’t take long, and it’s pretty low-risk, but still, surgery.’

Scott swallowed, looking down at his feet. “Shit.”

“He’ll be okay, Scott,” Melissa said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Someone as strong and stubborn as him always turns out fine in the end. I’ll get you when he’s in recovery, okay?”

Scott nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

XXX

" _How many_?"

Stiles grinned up at him from the hospital bed. The surgery had gone without any hitches, and he’d gotten out of recovery and was in a room until the sheriff got him discharged. "Twenty-two."

Scott whistled. "That's gotta be a personal record!"

"Yeah. And that's not even counting the internal ones! You wanna see?” He reached up toward the bandages on his shoulder.

“No! No, Stiles, I don’t wanna see-leave that alone!” Scott cried, smacking Stiles’ hand down. Stiles scowled at him.

“Spoil-sport. Anyway, it is a PR. That time I cut my leg open when we were breaking into the junkyard was only eight stitches. Twenty-two sort of puts that to shame."

Scott laughed, but his face soon became serious. "You're not allowed to pull a stunt like that ever again," he said softly. "I was scared, Stiles. When I saw you in that circle of Mountain Ash, I was…I was  _terrified_. So you're no longer allowed to go down the rabbit hole that is the deep internet, and you're forbidden from speaking Latin and also I'm pretty sure your dad said you're grounded from candles. And chalk. So."

Stiles smiled wanly. "Fine. I promise not to attempt any more black magic. I was looking forward to using that teddy bear from Isaac and Allison as a voice for the dead in my séance, but I guess not."

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles sighed. “I was joking, Scott. I’m done with that shit for real, okay?”

"Good. And Stiles?" Scott looked over at him.

"Yeah?"

"I love you, bro."

Stiles smiled. "You too, Scottie."

XXX


End file.
